


Diaspora

by Skull_Bearer



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 10:56:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skull_Bearer/pseuds/Skull_Bearer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Erik's family got out of Europe while they still could?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not only AU but plays fast and loose with canon. I'd thought up this version of Erik's family before we knew anything about them, and liked them too much to change them. This is a mish-mash of comics and movieverses.

**Diaspora**

It's not often Maria Lehnsherr puts her foot down, but when she does, the house trembles. Erik takes note and seeks refuge in his room, swiftly followed by Elsa. Once up, the muffled sounds of the row drifting up through the bare boards, Erik puts a finger to his lips and lies flat on the ground, a glass pressed to the floor and his ear against it. His sister sits on the bed and hugs her knees.

"-And I am not waiting for those _savages_ to come here!"

"This is our land Maria! Have you any idea what that means? Of course, maybe being born in the city-"

Erik winces, whenever his father brings up his mother's birthplace, the row is about to get bad.

There's a timid knock on the door. "Come in." Elsa calls.

It's Moshe. He's pale and looks sick. He's only five and unlike Elsa and Erik, he can't remember the Grandmother Rows of '35. Erik doesn't think they've had one this bad since then. Elsa shifts over and he huddles next to her, burying his face in her blouse. She pats him gently.

"Is that all it's worth to you? This land? Maybe it's my _city born_ way, but I thought you'd value _your family's safety_ more than some patch of dirt!"

"Are you so hysterical that you'd abandon your own home on the off chance there's an invasion! I thought you better than that Maria-"

Oh it's bad. It's really bad. Erik is seriously considering climbing out of the window and spending the day in Palming woods until they've both cooled off. Moshe's still shaking. Maybe they could find some line and take him fishing like they'd promised - no, that's not going to work, the line's in the kitchen and wild horses wouldn't get him downstairs with his parents rowing like this.

"This is worse than when Grandmama said all that about mother' family." Elsa mutters. Erik grimaces. It is. The Grandmother Rows have finally been topped. It is a sad day indeed.

Another knock, and the door opens a crack. It's the twins. Then come in without being invited. Misha crouches beside him; "Can I have a go?"

Erik waves her away furiously, and they sit on Erik's now extremely crowded bed. Elsa puts an arm around Mika , but she squirms her off, glaring.

"Is that a chance you're willing to take? You heard the stories-"

"Stories! Stories! You're willing to run away on some tall tales-"

"Tall tales? My sister saw the synagogue burn down! And _they_ were shrieking around it like wild Indians! She went to America straight after that, said she couldn't stay in that country another moment, not after seeing old Markus taken away. How are we safe, living next to an insane country like that?"

There's silence. It fills the room up like water. They all look at each other. The silence stretches.

"Who's _they_?" Mina asks eagerly.

"Shut up!" Erik plants his ear against the glass again, his father is muttering something.

"What is it?"

Erik lifts his head, "It sounded like 'maybe you're right Maria'."

Silence again, he can hear the conversation continue at a more subdued volume downstairs, but they've got the important part.

Moshe turns away from Elsa and rubs his damp eyes. "They've stopped?"

Erik sits up, stretching stiff legs. "Yes, they've stopped. At last."

"What was that about?" Mika and Mina are seven, they can just about remember the Grandmother Rows.

Erik bites his lip. He's not entirely sure. He knows what it _sounded_ like, but surely-

"Mother wants us to leave the country." Elsa answers for him.

More silence. Erik feels slightly sick. He doesn't know how to feel about this. It sounds exciting enough, and it would mean they'd be able to leave the village for more than short trips to Warsaw, but... this is home. He knows every tree in the woods, every stone along the roads. They practically are the village here, their vast, sprawling family owning most of the shops and services. And they own the land. The first in the family to own land. And now they are planning to _leave_.

"Is it because of _them_?" Mina asks.

Erik nods. They don't talk about _them_. Father hides the papers and Mother no longer talks about her childhood in Germany.

"Why don't they just find _them_ and give them a good kicking?"

"Girls don't kick people." Moshe snorts.

"I think, " Erik says, "That there are a lot of _them_."

* * *

It doesn't start feeling real for a long time. Life goes on as it has for the last twelve years of Erik's life. There's school in the village, and adventures in the woods. They finally take Moshe fishing and catch three large trout to take home and eat, and Erik's little brother is glowing for days afterwards and boasting to anyone who'd listen how it had been ' _this_ big' and had terrible teeth and fed the whole family with enough left over for sandwiches. Elsa's latest boyfriend is driving Father up the wall, the twins are as annoying as ever, the new baby as noisy as ever, and Erik spends his time studying and walking the woods and adding to his collection of 'interesting metal things'.

But every time Erik starts forgetting about the _Them_ Row, as they've come to term it, bits of it come back to haunt them. There's the late night discussions when the adults think they've all gone to bed, even Elsa's not allowed to attend, and she's almost sixteen, and they all sneak down or hide in Erik's room listening through the floorboards to talks about _visas_ and _your sister_ and _possible housing_ and _passports_.

One night when Erik and Elsa are both hiding behind the stairs (everyone Elsa is upstairs and waiting for their report) that they first hear the words _New York_.

It sends a chill up Erik's spine. The idea of leaving had been a vague notion, the general aim of _away_ , they know where they're coming _from_ , but this is the first time they hear where they're going _to_.

Erik tries to remember everything he knows about New York when he and Elsa creep up the stairs avoiding the squeaky steps, and join the others in Erik's room.

"We're going to New York." He announces without preamble.

They all stare at him. "That's so _far_." Mika gasps.

Erik shrugs, it wasn't his idea. Elsa smiles. "I think it's a _great_ idea."

They stare at her now. "But they just speak English over there. I can't speak English!" Mina hugs her knees.

" _I_ can," Erik puts in. It's almost true anyway, he's the best in class easy. "You'll have to learn." He's going to enjoy that. They twins have far too much time to spend annoying him, it'll be great for them to have less.

"I hate you." A pillow is thrown, Erik ducks.

"No, it'll be great." Elsa sits down on Erik's work chair. "Mum's sister lives there and she's amazing. It's huge and there'll be lots of things to do, and people to see. It's so small here, it'll be great to finally see the world. You know, _live_."

"You just want to meet a rich American man and get married." Moshe sniffs haughtily, looking ridiculous for five.

"Or be _unmarried_ , like Mother's sister." Mika giggles.

Elsa shrugs. She's heard far worse from great Grandmama, the rabbi, and almost everyone else in the village. "So what if I do? It's better than my chances here." She pauses, "Erik, do you still have that photograph mum's sister sent you?"

Erik hesitates. The photo is in his box of 'interesting things' and he doesn't want to get it out in front of them. If the twins know where it is they'll steal it and blackmail him, or lose it. After a moment he pulls it out from under a loose floorboard. He'll have to find another place to hide it tomorrow, maybe under his desk?-

The photo is crumpled and creased from having been looked at a hundred times. Mother's sister (he can't call her his aunt even in his own head. His aunts are the Lehnsherr unmarried maidens who disapprove of Elsa and make loud hints about Erik taking over the family trade) sent it to him when she went to America. It shows eleven men eating lunch high above New York City, while building a skyscraper. Erik must have looked at it a thousand times.

Now they all pour over it, wondering at the crazy people in the city who sit so happy hundreds of meters above the ground, eating lunch. Moshe says that they must have so many people in the city that they must not care if a few fall to their deaths. Elsa answers that they must all be very brave. Or crazy, Misha puts in. Erik doesn't say anything. Maybe he's a little mad, but he's often thought he'd like to be one of those men on the skyscraper. You'd have the whole city under you, and you'd work all day in the clouds with birds to pay you visits. It strikes Erik then that maybe he could be, that he'd actually be able to see where this photo was taken on the Empire State Building, and suddenly he feels a lot happier about leaving.

* * *

Even then, it's almost 1939 before their parents break the news. It's sweet that they thought they'd been able to hide what was going on from them, but the day Erik and his siblings are called down to the dining room and they seen mother looking determined and father looking grim, Erik for one knows that This Is It. The big talk. Even with everything, it really hadn't felt real until now.

Father starts. "Your mother and I feel that-" he takes a deep breath and looks imploringly at Maria, as though also aware that the moment he says the words, there's no going back -"that things in this country are no longer stable enough to justify staying." Another deep breath, Erik's mother gives the smallest of nods, _go on_. "German is threatening to invade, and we do not want to be caught in a war zone, particularly since-"

Maria interrupts, "Not too much detail, please, Elias." She smiles at them all. "We don't think it'll be safe, and we want keep you all out of harm's way until we know it's safe."

A hard, cold fist grips Erik's stomach. "You're not coming with us?"

Maria chuckles. "Oh, of course we're coming with you!" She walks over and gives Erik a hug. "You don't think we'd leave you all on your own, would you?"

Erik sighs, too relieved to mind the hug. America would not have been much fun otherwise.

"Sounds like they already know what's coming." Father puts him, crossing his arms.

Erik looks at his feet. "You want to go to New York."

"It's a safe place, my chick." Erik hears Mina and Misha snigger at the pet name and grits his teeth. "My sister lives there and says it's a lovely place, warm and welcoming and with lots of our people there." She sighs. "More now, probably. Anyway, she'll be coming to help us move and you like your aunt Rachel, don't you?"

General nodding. Mother's sister Rachel is fun, she always has the most interesting things to show them, and the funniest stories.

"And some of your cousins are coming along too, so it's not as though we'll be alone there."

"Where are we going to live?" Moshe asks, uncertainly.

There's a moment's hesitation, then Maria answers, "Now, don't you worry about that for now. We'll take care of it and before you know it, we'll have a lovely house. In the city. It'll be live visiting Warsaw, only even better because we'll live there-"

"We don't have a house, do we?" It's Mina, she's chewing her lips anxiously.

"We will have a house." His mother correct firmly. "We're sorting it out now-"

"What your mother means," Father breaks it, "Is that she's had my lout of a half-brother buy up the house and farm, and we'll be arriving in New York with only the clothes on our backs."

The silence is horrible and Erik starts edging towards the door, ready to bolt when the war starts. His mother is glaring daggers. "We settled this, Elias."

"They're allowed to know how thing stand." Father says stoutly.

Erik is almost at the door, he's not sure how to open it without them noticing.

"Not like this they don't." His mother's voice is a deadly whisper. Erik wishes he could be anywhere but here.

The door handle suddenly slaps into Erik's hand, and he leaps out just in time as his mother lets rip "HOW DARE YOU USE MY CHILDREN-"

Erik doesn't have time to hear anything else, because he's out and running down the path towards the woods, each breath of cold air beating out _any-where-but-here-any-where-but-here_. He can hear the footsteps of his brother and sisters in the snow behind him as they too make a quick escape from the house.

They only stop when they reach the road and the countryside around them is deceptively peaceful. "What did father mean?" Misha looks stricken, her hair is coming out of her braid and falling in streamers in front of her eyes.

"I wouldn't pay him much attention." Elsa puts in, doubling over to catch her breath. "He's hated the idea of leaving since mother suggested it. He was probably making it sound bad to annoy her."

"But if we don't have anywhere to live-"

"Rachel didn't have anywhere to live when she came to America." Elsa interrupts, "And now she's got a really nice place. I bet we'll stay with her. Father's just being an ass."

"You shouldn't say that." Moshe is glaring at her.

"So what? He's an ass. I bet Mother thinks so."

It's cold, and Erik is starting to shiver, but it's still early and the library should still be open. He doesn't want to sit around and listen to his siblings bicker, after having just escaped the Leaving Row of '38.

* * *

Packing isn't done at once, but slowly, piece by piece. Their summer clothes are first, anything they won't be needing for a while. But slowly it eats up everything they have, until it's almost second nature to put their clothes in the trunk rather than the wardrobe. Mother spends a lot of time down in the village on the post office's phone, Father splits his time between organising the packing and moping around the house, running hands over mantelpieces and slowly emptying bookshelves, as though trying to remember everything.

The day Rachel comes to stay with them is quite an event, and they all file out to watch her arrive in a long red hired car, the back seats full of packages and wrapped things. She hugs them all and promises a ride in the car the moment the weather becomes more bearable.

But it never comes. What does come are the ship tickets, branded the fourteenth of January. The year goes by in a flurry of snow, and the evening before the fourteenth Erik climbs into bed and realises, really _realises_ that they are leaving. This is the last night he will spend in the house he was born in. Looking around at the familiar shadows, curls up in bed and tries not to cry. The tears splash on the sheets anyway. he tries to think of something else, of America and skyscrapers and cowboys and anything, but his mind keeps going back to the house around him, every corner, every wall and rickety stair.

He first climbed onto the roof when he was five, and found a birds nest wedged beside the chimney. His father had to borrow a ladder to carry Erik down kicking and screaming. He last fished in October, with Moshe and Elsa. He hadn't know that would be the last time he'd do so. Maybe he could have done something, like a little ritual to thank the stream and fish for having given them so many years of fun. He's not going back to school, and embarrassingly that's the last straw and Erik gets up, rubbing away tears that just well up again. He creeps out carefully (he knows the squeaky boards by heart now), and creeps into Elsa's room. He hasn't done this since he was ten, but he really wants his sister right now.

Moshe is already there, Elsa smiles at him and turns down her end of the bed. Erik climbs in gratefully, lying head to feet.

"Snore and I'll kick you." Elsa mumbles.

Erik manages something back, but is quickly falling asleep.

The taxis arrive the next day, and there's no time to feel sad, or indeed anything else. They scramble with trunks and suitcases and bags of all kinds, and the rest of the family turn out in droves with breakfast and food for the road and small going-away presents. Erik loses count of everyone he hugs, but then he's standing with his grandfather beside one of the cars, out of breath after carrying a heavy case. The old man smiles at him through his beard, his eyes are sad and Erik is horrified to see he's close to tears. Grandfather fought in the Great War, and didn't cry even when his wife died. His mouth moves, but he doesn't speak, instead pressing a wrapped package in Erik's hands.

"You already gave me something." It was a book on the last war, and Erik doesn't know if he'll ever read it.

His grandfather's mouth twists, and he nods, but he still doesn't speak, ruffling Erik's hair as he used to when Erik was small. "You look after your father." His voice is rough and a little hoarse. Erik is terrified he'll start crying and he hasn't the first idea what to do, so instead he just gives grandfather a hug made awkward by the package and goes back to help with the luggage.

They've loaded everything up and said goodbye when Erik suddenly remembers his box of special things, still upstairs under his desk. Father groans and Mother snaps "Go get it then! And quickly or we'll miss the train!"

"I'll go with him," Elsa offers, and they quickly dash back into a house made horribly empty and alien. Everything is hollow and gone, like walking through a dream version of the house, familiar and completely wrong. Erik climbs to his own room, and digs his box from under the desk.

"You know what we've forgotten?" Elsa says, looking around. "You remember what we used to do, before we went away?"

Erik smiles, and the both sit down on the stripped bed. It was mother's idea first, but they all used to do it. Before they leave, they imagine what it would be like to be there. It brought luck, she said. Think of it hard enough and the world will help you get there. It's when you don't know where you're going that accidents happen. Erik closes his eyes and thinks of the postcard, the skyscrapers, the Empire State Building. There's a honk from outside, and they both hurry out.

* * *

They make the train from Warsaw station, but only just. They just have time to jump in before the train pulls out, and by that time they're all frazzled and the baby is screaming. Rachel goes to walk in the corridor to calm her down as the rest of them cram into two compartments. There's fifteen of them; Erik's family, his rich goldsmith uncle and his wife, and three cousins. Erik doesn't remember much of the ride to Danzig, he spends his time staring out of the window and the sandwiches he's given don't seem to have a taste, although he must have eaten them at some point because they're gone now.

Rachel comes back in with the baby fast asleep in her arms. Mother is sitting with Misha and Mika snuggled up against her, and Moshe is asleep against Father. Erik must have slept too, arms still wrapped around his special box, because he's groggy and lost when Rachel shakes him awake. They've arrived at Danzig.

It's getting dark already, and Mother isn't in any mood to spend longer than she has to on German soil. They hail taxis, needing four to carry their small army and its luggage to the docks where the ship is waiting. It's freezing and Erik feels as though every part of his is shaking. They've leaving Poland, Europe, everything. Maybe only for a little while, but he doesn't want to leave at all. A light snow is starting to fall and the ship is a dark mass in the night air, speckled by brilliant lights through the portholes.

"Come on," Mother's voice is coaxing. "The sooner we're inside, the sooner we can get in our cabins and warm up."

The cabins are four bed ones, Erik cheers up when he realises he will be sharing with Elsa, Rachel and Moshe. The trip would take a week, it's good to know the company won't be bad. If he'd ended up with the twins one of them would have been thrown overboard before they'd even left harbour.

Still, the hollow empty feeling doesn't leave for long, and Erik takes off his shoes and curls up in the top bunk. He doesn't want to think that in a few hours they'll be leaving home behind for good. He doesn't want to think that if he just got off now, he could sneak aboard a train back to Warsaw and he can walk home from there. Home is a tight knot in his stomach and Erik clenches his eyes shut. He won't cry. He won't.

"Erik?" His mother touches his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he doesn't roll over. His latest attempt to hold back tears have been no more successful than the last.

"We're going to dinner, are you coming?"

"I'm not hungry." Maybe when the knotting goes away he'll feel hungry.

"Well, if you're hungry later, there's some sandwiches and apples in your bag."

"I'll be alright."

"If you're sure."

She pats his shoulder and Elsa, Rachel and Moshe leave with her. Erik turns the lights out. Maybe if he goes to sleep he won't think, and he'll dream of skyscrapers and of having lunch on iron girders instead.

* * *

Erik wakes up some uncertain time later, to a dull hoot and a shaking that rattles the whole ship. They're setting off. The room is still dark and the other three must have come in without waking him because they're all in their bunks. Erik sits up and tries to look out of the porthole above his bed, everything's dark, but he can see the lights of Danzig start to fade as they pull away. The shaking slows to a soothing rocking as they leave shore, and Erik fancies he can feel the engines churning the water below them.

He doesn't know what to think. Mostly he feels empty, and hungry. Mostly hungry. Erik carefully pads out of his bunk to the lockers where he stowed his things (stowed is the nautical term, not put away). He finds two cheese sandwiches and a slightly battered apple, and he is just closing the bag when his hand touches grandfather's gift.

Erik picks it up and shakes it, quickly stopping when it rattled loudly. No one seems to have woken up, thank goodness, and he retreats back to his bed with his spoils and a torch. He climbs in and pulls the covers over his head, only then switching on the torch. The sandwiches are quickly eaten and the crumbs scattered all over the sheets and Erik opens the porthole a crack and drops the apple core outside. He tries to hear the splash, but there's nothing but the dull roar of the engines.

He turns grandfather's gift over and over. It still rattles. It's neatly wrapped in old leather, probably from the old man's workshop. It's tied together with a strip of hide, and Erik picks at it with his fingernails until he manages to get the knot loose. The leather unrolls and a delicately carved box rolls out, bouncing on the mattress.

It's a beautiful old chess set.


	2. Chapter 2

**Diaspora**

Chapter 2

 _(note, I'm not Jewish, so deep apologies if I make any mistakes with the religious traditions. I've also never been to new York - or anywhere in America)_

The trip over is rough, once they hit the Atlantic the ship starts rocking threateningly and doesn't stop until they sail into New York harbour.

Erik doesn't really mind, he's not seasick. He's not really _hungry_ either, and makes do with small snacks begged from the galley. It's almost fun, and Erik finds that when the floor is starting to slope he can make his mind to this _thing_ that keeps him from losing his balance, as though he's stuck to the floor. He wonders if this is what people mean by getting their sea legs.

If so then he's the only one on the ship who's gotten them so quickly, which makes him feel quite proud. He even dares to go out of deck when the storm's stopped and the sea isn't quite so rough. It's completely freezing and when Erik touches the railing he quickly snatches his hands off, afraid he'll leave skin. There's nothing but grey sea for miles, which is all they've seen since they left the final port of Southampton four days ago, and it'll be another day before they'll reach the other side.

The walkway towards the prow is too crowded with sea-sick passengers desperate for fresh air in the hopes of being a little less sick, so Erik turns and heads to the rear. There's no one there because the smoke from the funnels is quite thick and the air smells of burning coal. Erik hooks his arms over the side, looking down at the churning water below. It's peaceful, which is strange because he's right above the engines and the thunder and shaking is worse than ever, but it's nice all the same, like being on top of some great but friendly beast.

A seagull swoops down and lands on the water, bouncing from the waves the ship is making. Erik wonders if it'll stay with the ship or if it will fly back to Europe. He rather envies the bird that choice. It's shabbos and today everyone would be getting ready to go to the synagogue, with great-grandmother being pushed along in her wheeled chair, snapping and ordering everyone around. He thinks of grandfather and now it's his turn to feel sick. He hasn't shown anyone the chess set, partially because he doesn't have anyone to play it with, and he's afraid he'll lose some pieces, and partially because it's clearly really expensive and he suspects he's not supposed to have it. He doesn't want to have it taken away. So he buried it under a pile of clothes and hopes no one finds it. He's having _nightmares_ about someone finding it.

There's a bit of an attempt at keeping shabbos back in their rooms, sitting around but mostly Erik feels a bit silly sitting there on the floor of their cabin, with just some cheap wine from the galley and a loaf of bread. Father finishes reciting, and for a moment they all just sit there.

Then everything gets just that bit worse.

"Are you satisfied now Maria?" It's Father and it's said in the tone they'd all come to dread.

"Do you think I'm happy about this?" his mother's been quite badly seasick, and is not taking it well. "Do you think I had a choice?"

"A choice? I wasn't aware someone was holding a gun to your head! It's fine for you Maria, this is your family!"

"My family..." His mother's lips are white. Erik wants to crawl into the bowels of the ship, inside the engines, close them around him until none of this is happening. "Your family as well, Elias."

"My family is back home! They're yours! Take them! I should never have left!" And then the worst and briefest row in history ends with a slammed door and such horrible silence that even the engines are deafened by it.

Misha breaks the silence with a soft cry, and mother hugs her, then Mika too, and finally everyone just piles in close together as though if they move so much as an inch away, the rest of their little group will also break apart.

Erik pulls his yarmulke off, it always drags in his hair. Elsa puts an arm around him, and Moshe buries his head in his side. He tries just not to be here, to send his mind down into the ship and the engines where everything's too noisy to be so horrible. Mother's crying, and so are the twins and Moshe and probably Erik is too, but no one's making any noise.

Elsa squeezes his shoulder. "He didn't mean it." Her words fall flat.

Mother looks up from comforting the twins. "No, of course he didn't. You know your father's temper." She takes a deep breath, "He loves you all very much, he's just angry. It's hard for him to leave the rest of the family."

"I don't see why he should." It's Misha, and her face is scowled up under her tears. "We don't get to say stuff like that, even when _Erik_ gets mad he never gets to say stuff like that."

Erik opens his mouth furiously to say that he has _never_ behaved like that and never wanted her for a sister anyway-

"Enough. I'm not having you getting into a fight. Now of all times." Mother's voice is low, and they're all immediately silent. "Just go to your rooms. I will go and have a word with your father."

Erik can't get out of the door fast enough. He and Elsa and Moshe pile in and end up on the floor again, in their room this time. His brother is still shaking and there's a damp place on Erik's shirt where he'd been crying into it. Elsa's pale but she tries to smile.

"Buck up you two, you know Father didn't mean it."

"He looked like he meant it." Erik's throat feels rusty and he'd crushed the yarmulke into a lump of cloth. Father had been the one to give it to him.

"Father's an ass," She shakes his shoulder. "You remember the Grandmother Rows, when there was all that stuff about aunt Rachel, and Father said Mother was the sister to a scarlet woman and he never wanted to see her again?"

Erik gives a weak smile. That separation lasted all of six hours before Father was begging forgiveness. Mother hadn't even had time to finish packing.

"He'll come back and he'll be sorry. Just you wait."

There's a long silence, Moshe still looks uncertain, and Erik makes his decision. He walks over to his locker. "Grandfather gave me something when we left. But you can't tell anyone."

Moshe blinks, surprised out of his moping. "What?"

Elsa frowns at him. "Really don't tell anyone." Erik insists. He knows she won't tell. The last time he begged her to keep a secret was the day he wanted to borrow his uncle's binoculars and climb onto the school roof to watch the stars. She came with him and brought a bunch of friends and they stayed there all night. She owes him.

The chess set elicits gasps and Erik carefully unpacks it on the floor, wincing whenever a wave makes the ship rock.

"Grandfather gave it to _you_?" Elsa sounds vaguely horrified.

Erik glares, it's not as though he's Moshe or the twins. He can look after things. "I'm not going to-"

"No, not that. But it's really old. And really expensive. I wasn't ever allowed to touch it, and after the twins were born I never saw it." She looks down, picking up a tiny knight. The horse's mane is so detailed Erik thinks he can see each individual strand. "He must be really scared." She continues. "He must really think the Germans are going to invade, if he sent it away with you."

Erik growls, "Maybe he just wanted to give it to me." he snaps, "Maybe he-"

"Oh please don't fight." Moshe is looking at them beggingly. "Not now."

Erik subsides with a growl, and picks up another piece, a tiny bishop with hooked staff and miter, it looks vaguely cross. Erik sighs and puts it in its starting position. "Do you want a game? I'll teach you."

* * *

Father calls them back to apologies to them all by dinner time, but the air feels like grandmother's lace, like the first wrong move will tear it and bring the rows back. Erik picks at his meal miserably; he's not the only one doing so, but for him it's got nothing to with the rocky weather.

They're all silent. It's the first time this has happened. Usually after rows everything calms down and it's like summer after a thunderstorm: tension released and calm restored. They creep out, trying not to look at anyone, and hurry back to their rooms.

Erik decides he hates silence.

He wakes up when it's still dark, although this time of the year it doesn't mean much. His stomach gnaws at him, he barely ate last night.

Erik gets out of bed and grabs his clothes to get dressed in the shared bathroom to avoid waking anyone. He can't bear the silence in the cabins any more.

The ship's clock reads 6.33, early, but breakfast will be served in half an hour and Erik wanders down the deserted hallways. All thick carpets and wood paneling. Erik yawns, trying to ignore how hungry he is. He opens to door to the deck and huddles on himself in the sudden cutting wind. It's even colder than yesterday and the deck is clogged with a thin coating of snow. The sky is ink black apart from a slight lightening in the East.

There's the glimmering of lights on the horizon. A line of light like silver that they're heading straight towards. Erik stares at it for a few minutes. This is where they are going. This is America. This is the New World. Where they sit on girders miles above the ground and build skyscrapers. This is the place that made father disown them to their faces.

Erik turns his back on it, and walks towards the rear of the ship and the comforting roar of the engines. Maybe he'll wait and watch the sun come up in the East. Over Poland. It's probably already dawn back there. They could have been back home, and Mother would have been making them breakfast, trying to bundle them up before it was time for school. There would snow there. Proper snow, not this salt-rotten stuff. They'd throw snowballs at each other and chase each other to school, hoping it would be closed if the fall was too heavy so they could hide out in the woods before Mother found out and had Father school them instead. Father who'd give them problems that were either too hard or stupidly easy until the twins mobbed him. Father who'd rub snow in Erik's hair and rattle on about how each snowflake was unique. Father who'd laugh.

Erik hugs the railing until the sun rises and he's so cold his joints feel frozen. The engines purr on beneath him, a quiet repetition of _you're not alone_ that stifles any tears and makes Erik swallow and turn back to look at their approaching destination.

He's not the only one out by that point. People are starting to crowd the deck, staring out over the sea towards New York.

The newly risen sun picks out the details of the distant skyscrapers. In the distance, they look God placed chess pieces on the horizon. Erik decides that one's a rook, and that one's a bishop and _that_ one - Erik feels himself start to smile despite everything. _That_ one, the huge one towering over everything which was built by fearless men who ate their lunch with the birds, is a king.

And like a piece already taken, sitting out in the middle of the harbour, is the queen. Erik blinks at the huge statue on its pedestal. It's almost too big to be real, like someone pasted a picture on the side of the world.

A murmur passes through the crowd, husbands turning to wives, fathers lifting children, siblings nudging each other. The State of Liberty.

Erik can't look away from it, even for the Empire State building. They close on it and it towers above the ship and Erik can _hear_ it. He can hear it inside his head, behind his teeth, in the darkness behind his eyes. It's a warm hum, and it's almost as though it's saying _Welcome you all_. Erik is sure he can hear the ship hum back. _Good to be here_.

"Erik!"

Erik spins around. His mother and father are behind him. Mother's holding the baby, father several packed bag.

"I told you he'd be here." His father snaps. "Erik get your things, we'll be docking soon."

"In this crowd? You won't even look out for your own son now-"

"And thanks to your fears, we'll be lucky to get everything packed in time-"

Erik runs. He's been doing a lot of that lately.

* * *

Erik manages to snatch some breakfast after throwing his things into his bag (the chess set is wrapped in his pyjamas and buried amidst socks). Then he goes to stand next to his family on deck. The baby is crying and mother's trying to do a head count as the twins run around leaping up on the railings to look at the approaching docks. Erik sits beside his bag and tries to be invisible as his father drags the twins back to their spot. Normally he's be gratified to see them getting a well-deserved yelling, but today he just wants to curl up and be elsewhere.

The skyscrapers are towering above them now. If they're bishops and rooks, Erik doesn't like to think what they are, less than pawns on a chessboard the size of a city. It takes him a moment to realise that they're humming too. A deeper, duller sound that the Statue of Liberty, just on the edge of hearing. It should be annoying but it's not. It's nice, and feels like home.

They disembark down a narrow gangway. First Mother and the baby, then Rachel, then the twins, all but fighting to get onto dry land. Erik comes down next, hugging his precious bag, afraid he'd somehow drop it into the sea and lose it. Then Moshe, Else, and finally father.

The dock is grimy with oil and smells of diesel and metal (did metal have a smell?). Someone is shouting for them to get in line and Erik clutches his bag to his chest, struggling to keep his feet as they're shoved and manhandled towards some kind of building, looking like a cross between a shed and a warehouse. It's metal too and being surrounded by it makes Erik's teeth vibrate. Mother has a hand around his shoulders, another holding the twins by the hand. "Stay together, don't wander off."

They're brought up before a bored looking official, who glances them over as though he's seen them a hundred times before. Several other men in uniforms surround them, and Erik feels Moshe grab hold of his coat, everyone coming in closer as they are looked over like cattle. Rachel pushes her way to the front and murmurs something to the guard that Erik can't hear over the drone of the metal around them. Rachel hands the man a paper bag, the man looks inside, nods, takes it, and writes something down on a sheet of paper. "Go on through now, all is in order."

Getting out into the air is like learning to breathe again, Erik realises he's shaking. Mother gives them a comforting smiles and pats Rachel on the back. Rachel gives a weak smile. "It was more than I was expecting, but really, with all the people they have to go through-"

"It was fine." mother says soothingly. "You did wonderfully. Now let's go, quickly."

Many people are waiting for the ship's passengers outside, with cards reading 'Mr Smith', 'Mrs Rosenburg and family', 'Clara'. The ones holding the 'Clara' board go wild when a little old lady comes through after them, racing forward to hug her.

There's no one waiting for them. And it hits Erik that they don't have a house here. It's getting on for afternoon now, and nights come quickly this time of year. Soon it'll be night and they won't have anywhere to sleep. Will they have to sleep in the streets?

He isn't the only one to have thought of it. One of his cousins (he can never remember their names), starts tugging at his father's coat. Misha looks around and her lower lip trembles - although how her fake tears can help them now who knows, Erik thinks viciously. She hasn't shed an honest tear in her life - and fFther is looking at Mother with that look again. The look that promises another argument.

But for once, it doesn't come. Mother walks towards the street, where more cars than Erik knew existed cover the pavement. They scramble after her.

"Taxi!" Mother's English is the best out of all of them. "We need a hotel!"

Erik has spent rather more time on his English recently, and it wasn't bad before, so he can follow most of the next exchange. Mother enquires as to an affordable hotel, the taxi driver gives a few suggestions, she confers with Rachel, and they bundle into four cabs with directions to the Union Hotel.

* * *

Breakfast is cornflakes. Erik looks at the box, reading the writing on it as the others eat. Mother had been out all of yesterday and the day before with their uncle, aunt, father and Rachel, trying to organise them a place to live. They'd been left behind in the hotel under the eyes of their older cousins and Else. It was an anticlimactic end to their journey. They weren't even allowed out to see this new land they've come to. Erik spends most his time staring out of the window from the second-floor common room and, when he discovered one of the older patrons liked to play chess, playing one game after another and losing every one.

He's bored. Bored beyond his senses, he's tried to talk to the smiling old man, but the man's accent's so thick Erik can barely understand it. They've been here two days and while the hotel is quite nice- small but comfy, with wood paneling and cushions everywhere, and everything smoky from the constant cigarettes- it's too cramped. The twins stole his box of things yesterday and threatened to drop them down the drain outside unless Erik obeyed their every command. Thankfully that was the point Mother came back in for lunch and he got his box back and the twins got a scolding. Everyone's on edge, and this morning Rachel and Mother left so early no one knows where she went.

He's just considering if he wants another bowl when the door to the dining area opens and his mother and aunt comes in, it's snowing outside, flecks of white are melting in her dark hair, and her face is flushed, but she's smiling triumphantly. "We've got us a place."

There's an excited babble and jangle of spoons on plates, half the family standing up and demanding answers. The rest of the hotel is staring at them, not having understood the Polish. One of the men snorts 'Bloody foreigners' and Erik glowers. This is a hotel, of course they're foreigners.

"When do we view it?" Erik's father is already pulling his coat on.

"There's no need, I got it already."

"You what!" No, not another one, not here, with everyone staring. Erik wants to sink under the table.

"It was that or see it go to some slant-eyed biddy from god knows where, I had to make the bid there, Elias."

And thank you, thank you God, Erik's father subsides, growling. His mother sighs, "It's not huge, and I don't think it'll be big enough for all of us. But it'll hold us at least." She sighs and turned to Erik's uncle. "Karl, there isn't going to be enough room. It's going to be tight for us. I'm sorry."

There are a lot of begrudging nods. Father is still looking furious. Mother sighs again. "It was the best one we'd seen so far." She says to him, softer. "It's part of Rachel's complex. Not quite a house, but the next best thing. It'll be big enough for all of us and Rachel had the owner put in a special price. Maybe it's not what we left but it's ours now. You saw the prices Elias."

"I just hope it hasn't got damp or termites, or God knows what."

It's overwhelming to be outside again, after three days cooped up in the hotel. The air is sharp with snow and flakes are slowly drifting down. The cars and taxis are already covered in it and Erik sees a group of men sweeping the snow off the pavements. He stops and stares, the men had the darkest skin he's ever seen. One of them catches his eye and grins, showing shockingly white teeth. Erik smiles back.

"Come _on_ Erik!" His father grabs him by the arm, "And don't stare," he adds, bundling him into a taxi.

Erik can't stop smiling, even though he's making the journey wedged between the twins. This is a _city_ , a big city, even bigger than Warsaw. It's going to be exciting here, with all sorts of strange and wonderful things, like statues the size of skyscrapers, and buildings which sing to you, and people from every corner of the world.

It's going to be _amazing_.


	3. Chapter 3

** Diaspora **

Chapter 3

The house is in a cobbled street, full of piles of snow and crushed boxes, stray cats and old women staring out of the windows with bowls of hot soup. The houses are close together, shutting out the sun, and the door is sandwiched between two others, all long and thin and crammed in as though the people who built them wanted to get as many in as possible.

There's no courtyard or garden, it opens straight onto the street. Erik sees his father's face twitch, but he doesn't speak. It's worse than that. He just looks at the house with a horribly dead expression that makes Erik feel sick to the bone. "Is this the place, Maria?"

Erik's mother pauses from searching for the keys. "It is." She gives him a sad tired look. "Maybe we could get a window box."

"There's not enough light." Father looks up at the encroaching buildings and sighs. "Come on then."

Inside is dark and musty, there are no electric lights like in the ship or the hotel, they're back to gas lighting. A round faced woman with scrubbed pink arms smiles at them and hands them a key. They go up the rickety stairs from one floor to another, and there's their door, with pock marks in it to show where a number was once displayed.

Mother lights a lamp and the yellow glow feels like back home. Everything's rough wood and bare brick with some whitewash here and there. The door opens to a narrow dining room with a table so large it had to have been built there: no one could have gotten it through the door. An even narrower kitchen to the left, a washroom, then at the back, more stairs going up.

"Well go on, pick your rooms." There's a general stampede towards the stairs, and Erik just catches Mother continuing, "There's not even a living room and not enough rooms, but really there's barely going to be any space-" Then he's up a floor where the twins have already grabbed the second largest room (largest went to Mother and Father, of course) and Elsa is arguing with them, "I'm going to be sharing with Rachel, you can have the other room, we're going to need more space-"

There's only one room left and Moshe has already bagged it for himself, a nasty, smelly, narrow garret with only one high window that make the place look more like a prison cell. There are no other rooms up here and Moshe gives Erik a cold and alarmed look, horrified at having to share this tiny room with his older brother.

But wait, here. There's another staircase, leading up again. Erik clatters up eagerly, and reached a trapdoor. Heart pounding -finally an adventure!- and having completely forgotten about finding a bedroom, he pushes the trapdoor open.

The room it opens to was, if anything, even smaller than the garret, but that didn't matter. The ceiling slanted down on both sides, he must be under the roof, and there's a bed pushed up under one eave, a big window overlooking the street with a school desk in front of it and some shelves on the far wall. And above his head, just over the bed, is a second window, a skylight.

Erik can't scramble in fast enough, kicking down the trapdoor to stop anyone else coming up. This is _his_ room. He couldn't bear the idea of the twins deciding they wanted it instead once Elsa kicked them out of the second bedroom. He drops his bags on the floor, puts his coat on the desk - there's no chair, but that's fine- and jumps on the bed.

The slats creak and the springs go _poing_ , the blankets are rough and full of holes but that's fine too. Erik brought the patchwork quilt Great-Grandmama made him, and it would be great here. He can see the grey skies over his head, and on clear nights he'll be able to take out the star charts Grandfather gave him and make out constellations. He gets up and tries pushing at the skylight hopefully, remembering the night he spent on the school house roof with uncle Karl's binoculars. It was one of the best times. The skylight's locked, but there'll be a key somewhere.

"Erik? Are you up- Ah." It's Father. He pushes the trapdoor open and frowns at Erik, who gets guiltily off the bed. "If you want this room you will have to swear never to open that skylight."

Erik opens his mouth to protest- _What happens in summer when it gets really hot-_

His father raises a hand, and he still looks so grey and tired Erik can't bring himself to complain. "I mean it. You might like to climb everything that stays still long enough, but you're six stories up. We haven't come all this way to have you fall to your death in New York."

Erik looks at the floor. Father sighs. "Well, come on, get your things up here and settled in."

* * *

The first few nights are awkward and uncomfortable, with so many in too small a house. Erik counts himself lucky that as the one with the smallest room he doesn't have to share. They live off street vendors for a while until mother can gather enough supplies to start putting together meals again. But they get used to it, and their uncle and his family get a flat just a few streets - Blocks, Erik corrects himself, they're called blocks here- away, and they have meals together almost every night and definitely every shabbos, and things start feeling more normal.

Erik hasn't dared go far from the house at first, afraid he'll get lost in the huge sprawling maze too high for any landmarks. But he quickly learns that the city itself is full of landmarks, each building is different, sounds different, and if he keeps one or another in sight he can find his way home.

Home. It's getting to be like home. His room had felt like home from the beginning, but the rest of the narrow, gloomy flat is starting to feel more welcoming. The dining room usually has a fire going - as do all the bedrooms, in this cold- and meal times are a crowded, noisy affair, all elbows and spoons and shouting as everyone tries to make themselves heard at once in the cramped space.

Erik's birthday comes and goes, he's finally thirteen. It's not much of a celebration, and certainly not when Erik remembers how he'd imagined the Big Day being back in Poland. There's not much money for food, and he doesn't have any friends here. They haven't even really joined a synagogue yet so there's no Bar Mitzvah - _later, his mother says, his father says nothing_ \- Erik almost wishes it had been entirely forgotten, just a day like all the others.

Erik spends most of his time in his room, despite it being one of the coldest. He wraps himself in Great-Grandmama's quilt and reads his English books, sounding the words out, it's fairly easy, but the grammar is a nightmare. It's getting easier and easier to understand what he hears in the streets, although he has to go a few blocks away as almost everyone in their area speaks Yiddish too. And yesterday he found a library tucked away between a diner and a shoeshop, and spent most of the day there until Elsa had to come and fetch him.

"I just asked where the nearest library was," She laughed to mother when Erik had been scolded and order to go to bed without supper. "And he was there."

Now it looks as though it'll be Elsa who'd be sent to bed without supper, and maybe even Rachel. They're all at the table, the stew's ready, and the potatoes, mother is staring at the door, and neither of them are here. The church bells they can just about hear struck seven quite a while ago.

Erik's mother sighs, staring at the pot in her hands, and starts serving. Moshe blinks at her. "Aren't we going to wait-"

"Your sister's a big girl," Mother's voice is harsher than usual. "And Rachel knows the city."

As though waiting for those words, the door swings open and the two come in with a flurry of slush.

"And where have you been!" It's not so much a question as a shout. Erik grabs his spoon and hunches his shoulders. His mother glances at him and softens.

"I," Elsa says, pulling her scarf and coat off in a flourish, "Have gotten a job."

There's a stunned silence. So far their only money has come from Rachel's paintings, which has been erratic at best. This is News.

Mother blinks, "A job? Where?"

"A friend at a local grocers." Rachel brushes snow off her hat and hangs it up to dry. "He's looking for a shop girl and, thank goodness, being a regular customer has finally paid off."

"The pay isn't so bad, and I'll be able to bring any old food we can't sell back with me." Else puts in.

Erik's mother and father exchange a look. Erik smiles at his sister, who grins back.

* * *

Erik misses the next row, thank god, as he was in the library at the time. He walks into the aftermath coming in for dinner at seven and freezes in the door. The atmosphere is thick enough to cut with a knife and father is nowhere to be seen. Mother is pounding potatoes with rather more force than usual and everyone else is very quiet. Erik puts down his bag under the table and pulls on the chair, wincing when one of the legs snags on a cracked tile and shoots back with a shriek.

The plates are in front of them and Erik looks down at the food, all hunger forgotten in the tension. Mother sits down and glances sharply at him, and he starts eating quickly. The food doesn't taste like anything.

"We'll have to see about finding you all places in school." It's a mark of how cowed they are that even the twins don't dare protest. "I've been given a position as a telephonist, I don't like the idea of having you all cooped up here all day."

Erik nods, and swallows his mouthful. The potatoes have parsnips mashed in with them, Mother must be feeling guilty about leaving them.

She sighs, "Well, it's three of us now with jobs, we should be able to afford to send you somewhere nice." She smiles at Erik, who tries to duck behind his plate. One of the twins - Misha probably- kicks him. He glares at her and she gives him a sweet smile. Mother hasn't noticed.

"What about father?" Moshe asks.

"What about your father?" The icy temperature is back. Mother sees them all cringe and sighs again. "I'm sorry. Your father and I had a disagreement over my taking on work. He and Rachel can look after the baby perfectly well while I'm away."

"Can't he work?" Erik offers.

"Your father is used to working outside, in the fields." Mother smiles sadly. "Moving here was a wrench for him, and there isn't much work in the city for a country man." She looks down for a moment, then straightens and smiles. It looks a bit wrong. "Anyway, I've been looking into schools for you all and hope to have you all safely settled in before I start working on Monday."

Monday? It's Wednesday now. Erik hadn't realised it would be so soon. He'd hoped for a few more days in the library and exploring the city, reading his books and playing chess with anyone he could convince. Then again, he has been bored here. Maybe school would be- what? Fun? Even in Poland school had never been fun, and most of the pupils and teachers were related. He can't imagine what it would be like here.

* * *

Mother keeps her word, and Erik is pulled out of bed at the unnatural hour of eight in the morning to visit a potential new school. Mother scrutinises everything he's wearing, from his shoes - _is that mud Erik?_ \- to his coat - _too old, put on that new one Aunt Adna gave you_. It's worse than Saturdays in Poland. They even catch a taxi, which is a shock. Every since they moved in, they've been deemed too expensive and been replaced with buses and trams. Mother sees his expression and smiles, pulling his coat straight. "We want to make a good impression."

Erik frowns. "Am I starting today?" He doesn't have anything with him, no pens or books or... anything.

"No, of course not. But it's a very exclusive school we're visiting, and we need to look our best." She pauses, and bites her lip slightly. "Erik, I want you to speak English while we're there, okay? No German, no Polish, even just to me. And it would be best if you didn't mention we're Jewish either. Can you do that?"

Erik nods, although he doesn't really want to go to this school any more. What's the point if he's going to have to lie all the time? His mother sees his face and smiles. "Just for today Erik." She pats his shoulder. "It's a very, very good school, we're lucky to be getting an interview, but I told them you were very bright and they're willing to give you a chance."

Erik's breakfast is a cold lump in his stomach, he doesn't know whether to feel angry that they're going to have to lie, if only by omission, or sick with worry that if he doesn't get in, his mother is going to be very disappointed.

The school is a large grey building surrounded by a concrete playground. There are only a few trees, standing in their little islands of earth. Mother pays the taxi driver and gives Erik a slight push towards the large wooden doors, welcome colour in all this grey. Inside, he can feel the metal humming inside the building, but even that sounds more like a drone, bored and unwelcoming.

The man waiting for them in the office is as grey as the building, grey hair, grey eyes, grey suit. His eyes pass over Erik and his mother, assessing and dismissing them in the same glance. "Ah, Mrs Lehnsherr. I assume this is the boy?"

Erik's mother seems to have gotten a lot smaller in all this grey, her lips thin to the point of disappearing. "Yes Mr Hallham, this is my son." There isn't so much as a good morning, Erik frowns.

The Mr Hallham just shuffles a few papers on his desk and pushes them towards Erik's mother. "Well, _assuming_ he is as bright as you say, he should be able to go through there easily."

Erik picks up the papers, they seem to be full of questions. "Do you have a pencil?"

Mr Hallham frowns. "Did you forget yours?" He speaks slowly and clearly, as though to an idiot. Erik feels his face getting hot.

He wants to say _I'm not stupid_ , but his mother quickly hands him a pencil, "Here Erik."

"The next room." Still in the talking-to-idiots voice. Hallham points to an adjoining study. He closes the door behind him on Mr Hallham's "Now, if you are more prepared than your son and brought the paperwork-"

Erik walks in and sits down, chewing absently on the end of the pencil, around the rubber. The questions are quite easy, although it takes a while to translate the words from English into Polish and the answers back again. Some of the words are coming more easily, but his writing is slower and more careful than usual, getting used to the curves and angles of this new language. The voices from the other room are through dimly, but Erik can't make out any words. He finishes the first sheaf, and moves on to the second, which are quite a lot harder. He's fighting his way through the third when his mother and Mr Hallham come back in. Mr Hallham picks up the first sheaf, then frowns. The second, and frowns harder. He snatches the third from Erik's hands and flicks through them too. Erik opens his mouth to protest angrily, but his mother shoots him a sharp look and he subsides.

"Well, Mrs. Lehnsherr. It appears your son has your gift with languages. His English is excellent." He ignores Erik's blinked surprise and his mother's dazzling smile and continues to go through the papers. "In fact, I would say," He's still frowning, expression flickering from displeased to pensive. "Yes, you would probably best be taken up a few grades, say with the fifteen year olds. It will require an extra fee of course" – Mother's face falls, but she composes herself quickly and nods. "In which case Mrs Lehnsherr, if you bring your son back through, we can discuss fees and while it is unusual for any student to start during a term, he should be able to catch up-"

Erik considers the dinner that night to be a belated birthday celebration.

* * *

The school is only for boys from eleven and up, so it sinks in on Erik, when he arrives at the school the next Monday, at for the first time he will be completely alone in school. He always had his siblings before, and a cousin or second brother in a class. Now, Elsa isn't going any more, the twins have been sent to a different school, and Moshe to a more local (and religious, on his insistence) institution. Erik is going to be alone here.

He almost wishes he'd let his mother come with him.

The bell has gone already, and Erik hurries inside, breaking into a cold sweat at the thought of being late on his first day. It had been made very clear that he was here on Mr. Hallham's sufferance, and he doesn't want to imagine what would happen if he was expelled on his very first day.

Everyone is already in the classroom when he comes in, although - thank god - no teacher yet. They all turn when he comes in, and Erik is pinned under the gazes of more than a dozen boys, all far older and much, much bigger. He walks down between the desks, trying to ignore the whispers and snickers and how the other boys nudge each other when he walks by. One tries to trip him up, Erik sees the leg just in time and sidesteps, his heart banging in his ears. The few desks with spaces on are quickly filled as boys shift over to cover more room, or bags are placed in the way. He's almost at the front of the class now, and the teacher is going to come in at any moment and see him looking lost and small in the middle of the classroom and will report to Mr Hallham and he'll be sent home-

Then, there in front of him, in the front row, right in the middle, is a space. The boy sharing the desk is about Erik's age, a little shorter and broader, with brown hair tumbling over his face and eyes which, while curious, aren't unfriendly.

As Erik approaches, the boy shifts over and pushes the spare chair out with his foot, inviting. Erik takes the chair and sits just as the teacher enters the classroom. Sanctuary. A port in a storm. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and the boy next to him smiles. When the teacher turns to write of the blackboard the boy ducks his head closer to talk.

"Hello." His tone is friendly, with a much lighter accent than most he's met here.

Erik gives him a nervous smile back, he shouldn't talk in class, particularly now, but- "I'm Erik." He whispers back.

The boy's smile is a broad grin now, "Pleased to meet you, I'm Charles."


	4. Chapter 4

** Diaspora **

Chapter 4

 _Thank you for your patience! I've had this story beta ready by the brilliant Killslay, who brought it more in line with historical accuracy. The first three chapters have been re-written. Also, I've kinda screwed with the timeline here, so things are not going to be happening in movie-canon order. There will be Raven, but not for a while yet)_

They sit side by side out of the wind come lunchtime. Erik should go back home for lunch, but Charles has brought his lunch with him and is happy to share. And he talks, so Erik thinks this will be good English practise just keeping up with him.

"You are not going home?" This part of the grounds is bare earth, their shoes scuff the dirt.

Charles picks up a stick to draw patterns in the dust. "I don't live in the city, I get picked up after school, but it's a waste of time otherwise."

He doesn't look too bothered by this, Erik doesn't blame him;- he's got enough food packed to feed Erik, the twins, and probably Moshe as well. Charles gives a sheepish smile, "They always give me too much, here;" he leans over to point out the sandwiches. "That's chicken, and that one's ham, and that one's egg."

He doesn't seem to mind sharing and he must have seen Erik's thoughts because he gives a small shrug. "I don't have much chance to share anything."

Erik grins. "You must not have any brothers or sisters."

Charles shakes his head, Erik takes a chicken sandwich. It's delicious, "Do you?" Charles asks.

Erik nods hard and swallows. "Yes," he counts them off, "One older sister, two younger sisters, one younger brother, one baby sister. And we're living with my aunt too."

"And you all came over from Poland?" Charles looks eager. That's fair, Erik is pretty curious about this generous only child too.

He nods, "Only a few months ago, my mother was worried about _Them_." He swallows another mouthful of sandwich.

"Them?"

"In Germany, you know. The Nazis."

"Oh." Charles blinks, "I thought they weren't going to invade Poland. They made a deal with the English Prime Minister not to, didn't they?"

Erik has no idea, "I don't know. I don't read newspapers." He probably should. He's not sure which would be worse, the row to end all rows there would be at home if _They_ didn't invade, or what would happen to the family in Poland if _They_ did.

"So you all came over? Your whole family?"

Erik gives a short laugh, "No, hardly any of us really."

"How many were you?" Charles is smiling.

How many? Erik has no idea. "A lot, the village were lived in were almost all part of the family." It's a pang, and he quickly scrambles for something else to say. "Have you always lived here?"

Charles nods, "Not in the city, just outside it. I'd love to live here."

Erik smiles. "Yes, it's very good here." A moment of silence as they look around at the city around them.

"Want another one?" Charles is offering a ham sandwich.

He can just imagine Great-Grandmama's reaction to that and he shakes his head quickly.

"Oh." Charles puts down the sandwich and looks a little lost.

Erik hadn't meant to hurt the kind boy's feelings and scrambles around for an explanation. He could lie, Mother's warning still rings in his ears, but this boy might just be his friend, and what's the point of having a friend if you lie to them? "I'm Jewish."

"Oh!" This time Charles brightens. "Have this one then." An egg sandwich. Erik takes it with a smile. "Is that why you left?"

Erik nods. And then he's talking, in somewhat stilted English, about the village and the house, and the family. Then about the rows and the decision to leave-

"- And my sister told me it must be serious, because my grandfather gave me his old chess set, and it's very old and important to him, so he must have wanted to get it out of the way-"

"Do you play?"

"A little." Not very well: Erik still hasn't found many to play with.

"I'll play you, if you want. I keep trying to start a club here, but no one's interested."

The bell goes, they get up and stretch cramped legs, the rest of the lunch is packed away. Charles frowns, "Won't your parents be worried you didn't come back for lunch?"

Erik hesitates, "Maybe." Probably was more likely. "I'll bring my own lunch next time. Thank you for letting me share yours."

"It's fine." A blinding smile that makes Erik grin back. "They seem to think I'm Cain, and pack accordingly."

"Who is Cain?"

"My stepbrother. We'll be having maths now; I hope you're good at it because I'm rubbish-"

* * *

Erik never had a friend like Charles. Most of the children back in Poland were either family or people he sort-of knew, but was never close to. Charles is more like family, only Erik hasn't known him all his life.

And it's nice. It's nice to know he will always have a partner for schoolwork, and someone to sit with in the courtyard. Someone to talk about schoolwork and families with (Charles never says much about his, but Erik supposes he doesn't have much to say, with only one brother and that a step-brother). They are the only thirteen year olds in the class, and stick together against the taunts from their classmates. They check over homework together before classes, find books together in the library. And talk. About everything.

Since Erik admitted he didn't read newspapers, Charles started bringing them to school for them to look over. They don't make much sense, although Charles is always eager to point out why something was happening like this and how last week this politician had said the exact opposite. Flicking through today's offering, Erik feels uncomfortable. All of this is going on around them and he's stuck in school. There's a picture of a _Them_ parade and Erik hurriedly turns the page, he doesn't want to know, not when he's here and can't do anything.

"Can I see?" Erik hands the paper back. Charles flicks back to the page in question and blinks at it. "That was yesterday?"

Erik shrugs. "It's their country, they have parades." As long as they stay to their borders.

Charles blinks. "That was here." The paper is pressed flat to the dirt so Erik can see it. "See? Manhattan."

Erik sees, and is suddenly feeling very, very sick. He hopes his mother didn't get the paper today. He hopes _Father_ didn't get the paper today. Hopefully the row would be over by the time he gets home.

"There was a fight apparently. Some protesters didn't like the march." Erik must have looked very fierce because Charles smiles without looking up from the paper. "You think you could have stopped them?"

"I could have tried."

Charles stretches, "Maybe you could have brought your family along, then we might have had a chance."

Erik manages a smile. "We would have had to build a barricade."

"We could have stolen tables and chairs from the school."

The plan of what to do if the German-American Bund invade the school keeps them busy until the bell goes, and they go into school still debating the virtues of roof tiles over chair legs as missiles, and whether guns were a realistic option.

(.org/wiki/German_American_Bund)

* * *

Erik waves goodbye to Charles at the end of the day. The other boy is waiting to be picked up, and Erik needs to be home for dinner.

The atmosphere in the house is even colder than the February wind outside and Erik makes two quick realisations. Firstly, his hopes that the newspaper went unnoticed were in vain, and secondly, he isn't really that hungry and the library will still be open for another two hours.

"I think I left something at school." He yelps out and runs before anyone can say anything. He thinks something was called after him, but he's too quick, clattering down the stairs and out the door before he can actually hear anything.

The two hours in the library are mostly spent reading books on cars and buildings, two of Erik's favourite topics, but his eyes keep sliding off the page and wandering over to the people around him, or the clock. It's getting late, and he's getting very hungry indeed. Would dinner be finished yet? What if they were waiting up for him when he came home? In Poland it would have been easy to climb in directly through his window, but not here.

Finally, Erik gives up, it's been more than an hour and the library will be closing too. Hopefully there'll some left-over food in the kitchen-

Charles?

Erik blinks at the figure he's just seen turn a corner. It can't possibly be, but it had looks so much like-

"Charles?" He calls out, and jogs over to the corner, looking down the way the figure had gone.

No one. Erik blinks and shakes his head. It can't have been. Anyway, what would Charles have been doing here? He'd heard that you could hallucinate if you were really hungry, maybe that was it.

Erik's luck was out. His mother was waiting up in the dining room.

"Erik."

Erik tries not to cringe. He's thirteen, he shouldn't cringe, but it's his _mother._

To his shock, his mother gets up, walks over and pulls him into a hug. Erik blinks, vaguely surprised that his head reaches her shoulder easily now. The hug is tight and lasts a long time, his mother rocking his gently as though he was a child. Erik is so surprised it doesn't even strike him to be embarrassed.

"Oh Erik, I'm sorry." She releases him and pushes his hair out of his face. "I've had a word with your father, we can't go on like this."

Erik is very glad he wasn't there for said word. He hasn't a clue what to say and so stares at his feet instead.

"Well, having your son run out on you is an incentive, I suppose." She pushes him gently towards the kitchen. "Eat; I left out some food for you. You were at the library, I hope."

Erik nods, eyes lighting up at the plate of food.

"Well, no more rows, I promise. We have to be all in this together, and I think your father understands that now."

* * *

Erik is regretting taking grandfather's chess set to school. Things aren't too bad, maybe the fact that there are two of them make the bigger, nastier boys in their class reluctant to directly attack them. But they often get shoved in the corridors, their bags kicked to pieces, and their lunches stolen. What they'd do to the ancient, beautiful chess set isn't worth thinking of. But he really wants to show it to Charles, and if he's really careful with it, surely it's worth the risk.

He doesn't tell anyone he's taking it, just in case.

Charles is waiting for him at the gates; and smiles when he sees Erik. It's hard not to smile back: Charles has the brightest smile Erik has ever seen in anyone. "Here." He says in greeting, and takes Charles behind an outhouse and unwraps the chess box from his coat.

It was completely worth the risk. Charles' face lights up and he takes the box reverently from Erik, sitting down on the ground and opening it on his lap to see the figures. First a pawn, then a rook, then the white queen, going over them in tiny detail while Erik stands over him, feeling so proud it's like a balloon's welling up inside him.

Charles looks up at him, another wonderful smile. "Sit down." He encourages. Erik sits next to him, and takes the queen from him. "They're perfect." Charles breathes. "Are they any good?"

Good for what? Erik's smile fade, Charles sees it and quickly continues, "How do they play? Do they let you win? My father-" Charles breaks off, looks away. Erik says nothing, this is the first time Charles has mentioned his father. "He said every great chess player has a game they always win with."

"Maybe this was my grandfather's good game." Erik looks back at the pieces with new appreciation. Then he frowns, remembering all the games he lost in the hotel. "I haven't won much with them."

"Oh." Charles pauses, then a flashing grin again. "Well, maybe they're not used to you yet, maybe they still think you're your grandfather. Want to play?"

Erik doesn't think he'd ever turn an offer down, particularly from Charles. Even when he doesn't have anyone to play with, he likes to set them up on the board and just look at the pieces, all lined up perfectly. He's so used to it that it's the work of a few seconds to set the pieces up.

Then the bell goes. "Damn." Charles mutters, Erik looks at him in surprise, and he blushes . "At lunch?"

Erik nods, and the pieces are quickly packed away.

* * *

The last class before lunch is Latin. "-I would like it a lot more." Erik is more thinking aloud than talking, but Charles is listening anyway. "If it was taught like a language, like French. Then- yes."

"How many languages do you speak?"

It's maybe a little embarrassing to admit. Charles can speak French and German and is so good at Latin he might well be fluent in that as well. Erik's Latin is ghastly. "Just three. Polish, German, and English."

"That's still a lot, I can't speak Polish." One of the larger boys shoves past them and Erik stumbles, clutching the precious box to his chest. Charles steadies him, then looks up and down the corridor. Erik pauses, and looks at him, confused. No one is paying attention to them. Then Charles grabs his hand- his fingers are shockingly warm- and pulls him through a door that turns out to lead to a cupboard filled with mops and buckets.

"Charles, what-"

"Shh." Charles presses a finger to his lips, barely hiding his smile, eyes dancing. They are so close their shoulders are brushing, and Erik can see Charles' shaking with barely suppressed laughter. "You want anyone to hear you?"

Erik glances at the door, and decides to play along. He's not sure if Charles really believes half the things he says, about chess pieces being partial about their players and hiding like spies, but it's always been fun so far.

"We've got to get to behind the outhouse." Charles whispers. "We can't let anyone see us. They'd love to spoil our game if they saw us."

Erik nods, he's not sure if Charles really means the other boys or if they're pretending to be fighting Nazis again, but never mind. "If we take the stairs to the first floor, they'll think we're hiding inside again. But then we can take the fire escape down and then we can get-"

"Behind the sheds to the outhouse." Charles finishes, nodding. He takes Erik's hand again, his nails scraping Erik's palms. "Come on!"

It takes them five minutes to cover a distance of no more than ten meters, but they're red-faced and laughing breathlessly by the time they get behind the outhouse. Erik quickly sets up the pieces and Charles digs out their lunches.

Charles' lunch is huge, but it never changes. It's always sandwiches, an apple, and a chocolate bar (Cadbury's, always the same). Erik's is, as always, the leftovers from last night's dinner, in this case a small pot of boiled potatoes and turnips and a rather bruised tomato.

"White or black?" He offers.

"White." Charles drops down opposite Erik, his back against the wall, and immediately pushes a pawn forward. Erik sits down with his back against the outhouse wall, and starts with his favourite gambit, jumping his knight out.

They're a dozen moves in, when there's a horrible rapping noise. One of the boys in the class above them, a hulking boy with his nose smashed flat from football, is grinning at them with three of his cronies. Erik freezes, and Charles' face goes white.

"Wooo." The boy whistles. "Ain't this fancy."

Charles tries to smile, "Look, Alan, we're not in your way. We're just sitting here."

"Maybe we want to sit here. You're always in the way." The boy- Alan, takes a step forward, foot landing only millimetres away from the chess board. Dirt is scuffed across the shining ebony and white marble tiles. " _And_ you stole my chess board."

Erik grits his teeth, blood flushing hot under his skin, reaching forward to grab the set. Charles catches his hand. "Come on Alan, you know you don't play. It's Erik's." He's trying to sound reasonable, but his voice has gone up and sounds more desperate.

"I wanted to start. And my father bought me one. And I lost it. And I see you got your kike friend to steal it." He leans forward, "What's the matter? Haven't got a daddy to buy you one, Charlie?"

Erik tries to get up, but his legs are tangled under him and Charles' digging his nails into his arm, a quick desperate look of _don't_.

Erik doesn't care, he doesn't care that this boy is twice as big as him and backed up by three boys almost as large. The set is his it was grandfather's it's his he is not letting anyone take it from him. "It's mine!" He spits.

The boy doesn't answer him, just reaching out a hand almost as big as Erik's head and shoving his head back to slam against the wooden wall. Erik tries to twist his hand free from Charles' desperate grip and bite the boy, but can't get a grip with his teeth. Behind them, the shed creaks loudly.

"Ugh." Alan lets go and looks at his hand. "He _drooled_ on me. Is that a kike or a dog? Charlie, your dog got my hand dirty."

"Just leave us alone, Alan." Charles pushes Erik behind him. "We're not doing anything."

"You're messing around with my stuff." Alan is grinning. Erik bares his teeth, wanting to find something to snarl back, but everything he's coming up with is Polish.

"It's not your stuff!" Charles says desperately. "It's not even a chess set!"

Of all the things Charles has said, this is by far the most absurd. Erik tries to push him out of the way, maybe if he was fast enough he could grab the board and most of the figures, and he might be able to come back and find those he couldn't, assuming he could outrun Alan and his boys-

"Oh it's not, is it?" Alan sneers. "What is it then?"

"It's- it's- it's nothing. There's nothing there." Charles flourishes his hands as though performing some impossible magic trick.

And then Alan blinks and looks at them, then back at his cronies, then back at them. His sneer fades to confusion. "What?"

"There's nothing there." Charles repeats, still trying to hide the set with his hands.

A moment's silence, Alan looks around as though they're not there at all, back at his friends, then turns away. "Come on."

The stunned silence lasts until Erik starts coughing up an impossible laugh. Charles shakes his head, mouthing something soundlessly. He swallows, "How did- I don't-"

"How stupid are they?" Erik rubs his head where it's still aching from being rammed into the wall. "How stupid can anyone be?"

Charles shakes his head again, then hunches up and puts his head between his legs. He motions Erik to do the same. Erik obeys, turning his head to look at Charles upside down under his leg. The ground around them is covered in iron nails, some of them stuck in splinters of wood.

"Doctor's say it's the best way to calm down." Charles interrupts his thoughts, his colour is returning, and more than usual, his hair hanging out from his head.

Erik sits up and rubs his face, then starts packing the chess set away, brushing the nails off the board. The boys might be the most stupid people on the face of the earth, but he is not about to take chances.

Charles sits up reluctantly and smoothes his hair back. "It really helps," Charles insists, "It really helps when you're scared."

"I'm not scared." Erik snaps the case shut and wraps it in his coat. "I was angry, you should have let me-"

"I know their kind." Charles puts in quietly. "They would have really hurt you, and they would have taken your chess set anyway. I saw someone like that break a boy's arm once."

Erik scowls. "So what do we do, we just let them-" He waves his arm to encompass their little area, and what just happened.

Charles smiles sadly, and gets up, picking up their bags and brushing the dirt off it. "What did you used to do, in Poland?"

Erik hesitates, no one would have dared try. Most of the boys either had fathers working for some member of Erik's family, or was a member of Erik's family. It would have ended with the parents having a screaming match, or an actual fight, like when Erik's second cousin twice removed called Elsa a whore. He explains it to Charles, who laughs.

"I don't think your father could do that here. They'd throw you out." He sounds wistful.

Erik sighs, and helps Charles up. "Could we go to other schools? Does this happen everywhere?"

Charles nods, "Everywhere I went to."

Erik sighs, and stokes the chess box. If anything had happened- he doesn't want to know what his father would have done to him, but Erik knew he would never have forgiven himself. "I'll have to keep it at home." He says sadly, then brightens, "You could visit me and we could play there."

Charles blinks, and maybe he does smile, but it disappears so fast, Erik isn't sure it was there. "I can't come. I get picked up after school. I really can't."

"Couldn't you ask them to wait? We always make more for dinner; there'd be plenty for you."

Charles shakes his head hard, "I can't, really. I'm sorry."

Erik is about to argue further, but Charles seems almost afraid, and he doesn't continue.

* * *

That day, the entire school has to stay behind when the shed Chares and Erik were playing behind collapses, the nails holding it together all neatly pulled out and lying in the dirt between the shed and the wall.


	5. Chapter Five

**Diaspora, Chapter Five**

The weather changes, and soon Erik is no longer huddling in his bed under a pile of blankets, and looks longingly at the skylight over his bed. It's getting warm, and his little room is right under the roof.

Oh well, he can always close it again before his father comes up. Erik doesn't want to sit here in the airless room sweating in his underclothes. It's not as though he's about to climb out. The latch is stiff and rusty, for a moment Erik thinks it's locked, but no, there's no keyhole, it's just stuck. He pulls at it, but it doesn't move. It's far too small to try and move it with two hands.

Erik yanks at it, and the latch slips painfully out of his hand, Erik swears in Yiddish and shakes his hand, glaring at that _farsholtn_ stucklatch-

It clicks open at once.

Erik freezes, still clutching his hand. The latch is hanging easily open; as though all Erik needed to do was _ask._ Almost without thinking about it, he takes a shuffling step back, then another, then the back of his knees hit the bed and Erik sits down hard.

The latch is still open, hanging free. Erik lets go of his wrist and lifts his hand to push his hair out of his face.

The latch twitches.

Erik freezes again, then moves his hand from side to side. Like a charmed snake, the latch follows the movement.

Erik pushes himself away until his back hits the wall and he can't get any further away. He's suddenly very cold, despite the heat, and the latch shivers. Erik looks down at his hands, they are shaking.

_This cannot be happening_.

* * *

Dinner is surreal. He'd left the skylight unopened and had gone down only when he'd been called down. The usual babble of noise met him, along with the smell of vegetable soup. He slides into his usual seat, and draws in what feels like the first real breath he's taken since the latch opened.

"It's not in the city, and the pay is nothing but-"

"I know Elias." Mother's voice is soft. A spoon lands in front of Erik, pewter, battered and bent in the handle. The clink it makes reverberates in Erik's ears into a low buzzing.

"Just to be outside again, even if it isn't every day-" Or maybe the buzzing had always been there, and Erik had just never paid attention to it before. Thought it was normal.

"You work so hard, the gardeners will have you on full time soon enough," Erik runs his hand under the table, remembering how his father had shown them how to pile iron filings on a plate and put a magnet under it, and when you moved it, the filings followed it.

"We'd be lucky, there are no jobs for men here, I hope Erik- Erik, what are you doing?"

Erik's head jerks up and feels his face flush with instinctive guilt. The spoon scrapes as it follows his hand under the table. "Nothing."

"What are you doing with that spoon?"

"Nothing." Erik picks it up, and it thrums in his hand, as though happy to be held.

The moment is mercifully interrupted by their mother, who sets down a heavy pot, one of their relics from Poland, on the table. The black iron growls like a bear in Erik's head. There is quiet as everyone sits down and is given a bowl of soup along with a heavy spoon. Erik looks down at the spoon, wondering if it would mind being eaten with. There is no response.

"Are you going to eat that?" Mina's hand sneaks in Erik's line of sight. The spoon clearly has a mind of its own because before Erik can stop it, it raps across Mina's knuckles.

"OW! Erik! Mother!"

"Mina, leave Erik's soup alone. Erik, apologise to your sister and eat your soup."

Erik considers blaming the spoon, but his mother would be unlikely to accept that.

"I'm sorry." He grumbles.

"Thank you."

Erik looks down at his bowl of soup. It's thick with potatoes and carrots and cracked wheat. Deciding that if the spoon was okay with hitting his sister, it wouldn't mind taking a bath in soup, Erik dips it and tucks in.

* * *

It's their last day at school, and Erik walks in as awkward as he had on his first day. Charles is waiting for him in their usual place and smiles when he sees Erik.

Erik considers telling him about the latch and the spoon, and how if he listens in the right way he can hear the buildings sing to each other. He hadn't considered telling his family, even Elsa. He loved them, but it was too close, too raw. But with Charles, it felt safe.

"This... thing happened yesterday." Erik starts, once they're safe behind the school shed. Charles blinks and motions for him to sit down and continue: they still have time before schools starts.

Erik continues "I was trying to open the skylight in my room, and the latch was stuck." Erik raises his hands and God, even thinking about it, he can feel it again. The metal in the railings, the nails in the shed beside them, a lone paperclip lying on the ground. He draws in a breath and continues. "I opened it without touching it."

Charles, wonderful, wonderful Charles, doesn't say 'are you sure' or 'you were just imagining it', he just looks thoughtful and hugs his knees. "You wanted it to open, and it just opened?"

"Yes." No need to mention the wrestling match he'd had with it before.

"Do you think you could do it again?"

Erik looks at his hand, remembers the spoon last night and then, suddenly, the last time they were here, when the shed collapsed. He can feel the nails in the wood like he can feel the spaces between his teeth. "I think so." Charles cocks his head at Erik and he continues, "I could feel it, even though I wasn't touching it. I can still feel it."

"Just the latch?"

"No, everything. Metal things. I can hear them- feel-" Erik breaks off. He couldn't have explained this in Polish, in English the words are far beyond him.

Charles doesn't say anything. He doesn't even look at Erik. For a while they just sit there in silence, staring at the wall of the shed in front of them. Then, finally, Charles speaks. "I think I can hear what people are thinking."

Erik stares at him, and he continues, voice distant and a little lost, as though he doesn't quite believe what he's saying either. "Sometimes I can hear things that people haven't said. Like voices. Sometimes it's like I can talk back. I think-" He breaks off, looks at the ground. "I think that's why Alan and those boys left us alone that time. With the chess set. I told them to go away." Charles touches the side of his head. "In here. I told them there wasn't a chess set and to go away. And they went."

Erik... has no idea what to say to that. It sounds completely stupid. It sounds like something from the games he and his sister used to play in the forest, where they played at being wood spirits and calling up animals of the woods, and pretending it was all because of them that a squirrel happened to turn up or a bird landed on a branch. Charles plays these games too, like being spies...

Except Erik knows what it feels like to do something totally impossible. He knew it was real because he could feel it. Could still feel it.

"Can you read my mind?" Erik almost doesn't mean to speak, the words just come out.

Charles blinks slowly, long lashes drifting together to open again, showing bright blue eyes. Erik can't look away for a moment, and his mouth is suddenly dry. "I don't know." For the first time since Erik's known him, Charles looks uncertain. "I can try."

But before they can do anything, the bell rings and they have to go inside.

* * *

With the hot frustration of being interrupted, it's only halfway through their first class that Erik realised that they probably won't get another chance to talk about this, since Charles doesn't live in the city and Erik probably won't see him again until after the holidays. The thought drops an iron ball in his stomach.

He wants to ask Charles if he'll come to the city during the summer, but the words stick in his throat. He doesn't want to sound so desperate to see him, as though he didn't have any other friends. Which he doesn't.

And maybe Charles is right about being able to read minds because at that moment Charles looks up from where he's been scribbling down about some old Greek they're supposed to be learning, and smiles at Erik. It's such a bright and dazzling smile that it steals any breath Erik _could_ have said anything with.

He ducks his head closer to whisper, "Are you doing anything on Saturday? Because Cain always wants to come into town and I could come too, if you want to meet up."

Charles says it so easily, as though he's not at all bothered by what Erik might think. Erik feels a bit embarrassed really: after all, neither of them have any friends beside each other. Pretending otherwise is a bit of a waste of time.

He should say no, it's _shabbos_ and they'd be going to the new synagogue Erik's uncle has found and where they now attend. Then there would be dinner at their uncle's flat, and then home for Erik to sit and read like a good boy. Like every week. As though Erik wasn't capable of something impossible and this might be the last chance could have to share it with Charles before school starts again in September.

Surely God can spare Erik for a day?

"What do you want to do?" Erik murmurs back.

* * *

The thought of the quiet of the synagogue and the chatter of his family suddenly pales in the light of Charles's smile.

The thought of sneaking away on _shabbos_ is nerve racking, and Erik really hopes Charles is alone with his ability to read minds because he's sure he's shouting his plans inside his head. Instead he tries to be as invisible as possible when he comes in.

Everyone's in, even his uncle and cousins, which is strange because it's not dinnertime yet. And Father's standing by a big box on the table. Erik walks over and looks at it. It's raw yellow pine, with "LEHNSHERR" stamped on it in big black letters. Erik's father lets him look it over with a broad smile. It was strange to see him smile. Strange but good. It's been so long. "What is it?"

"Some presents from Poland." He holds out a little bundle of letters. "These are for you."

Erik takes them, the top one is in Grandfather's stark black cursive. For a moment it's like Erik's been kicked in the stomach. The writing, the greetings, the beautifully written Polish. It's a hundred worlds away from the gloom and noise of gravelly English of New York. He wants to be there again. It would be summer and he and Elsa could go for walks in the wood, and camp outside when the weather got really hot. They could catch fish for dinner and after dinner Erik could go visit Grandfather and maybe he could show how well he played chess now.

To his horror, Erik realises he is about to cry.

He manages not to. He swallows a boulder that somehow got lodged in his throat and gives his father a croaky "Thanks."

Father steps forward to open the case, and Erik tries to wipe his eyes without anyone noticing. No luck.

"Er-ik's crying!" Mika crows, "Mama! Erik's crying!"

Erik spins around, suddenly furious. He wants to hit her, to make her shut up. He wants to take one of the hairclips she wears and stick her-

"OW! Maamaa!"

"Mika! Erik, what did you do?"

"He stuck me in the head!"

"I didn't!" Erik protests, but his mother must have the same sort of trick Charles has because she doesn't believe him at all.

"Erik, apologise to your sister. Mika, we all miss the family, and you cried as well when you got your letters-"

"Who's writing to you?" Erik snaps at his little sister.

"Erik! Enough. Apologise or you'll both go to your rooms."

They both mumble their 'sorry's' and go back to the dining table where father is wrestling the nails open. Erik could help, but he's still smarting from the telling off and just stands there, arms crossed and sullen.

The box open with a crack, nails pulling free from wood, and even Erik's wounded pride is not enough to stop him from clustering around with the rest of the family to see what riches have been sent from Poland.

The box is a treasure chest, an Aladdin's cave of lost wonders. There are great-grandmother's famous preserves, the ones she never sells but which are kept for Purim or Chanukah when everyone eats themselves silly on sweet summer plums and strawberries so soft they almost melt.

There are knitted sweaters for all of them, so thick Erik feels like he's sweating just looking at them. His is in a soft blue-grey.

There are a few books, mostly for Erik, but a few for Moshe as well. His six year old brother accepts them with great solemnity. There are two dolls for the twins, who sniff and say they're too old for dolls before eyeing each other's jealously.

There's a soft leather-bound journal for Elsa, who laughs and gives it to Moshe. There's wool and knitting needles for Mother, and a new leather coat for Father. There's so much Erik is amazed it could all fit in one case.

And there are four beautifully embroidered _tallisim_. One for Father, one for Uncle, one for a cousin, and one for Erik. Erik runs the fabric between his fingers. His old one was coarse and rough, but this one is smooth with age. Father looks up from examining his and looks at Erik's.

"That was your great-grandfather's. My grandfather's. He wanted my eldest son to have it. We'd have given it to you on your Bar Mitzvah, but-" He sighs, breaks off, and pulls it around Erik's shoulders. Smiling. "You're a man now, Erik."

Erik looks down at the shawl, so soft and heavy, then up at the smiling faces of everyone around him. And he thinks about how they'd look if they knew what he was planning to do tomorrow. He wishes the ground would open and swallow him.

* * *

Erik is so jumpy that he barely sleeps, waking when the morning is still grey and everyone still asleep. He crept downstairs barefoot, shoes in hand to avoid waking anyone. He still hasn't learnt where all the squeaky boards are.

The pine box is still in a corner of the kitchen where they left it last night. It's empty, but it seems to reproach Erik all the same. Even nails are tinny traitorous whines of how _bad_ he's being.

"Shut up." Erik mumbles and grabs a sheet of paper and a pencil. He scrawls _gone out with a friend, back for dinner_ and weighs it to the table with a spoon. It'll make the twins extra-happy, thinking about how he's going to be punished when they get home. Oh well.

Erik closes the door with a click, puts his shoes on, and rattles down the stairs at a run. He's on the early morning tram before he considers that there is probably no way Charles will be there at this time of the morning. He'll be waiting outside the school for hours, and what is he going to do for breakfast- Erik checks his pockets, he's got enough for a sandwich, but he's already getting hungry and that probably won't be enough.

But Erik gets off the tram and Charles is there. In fact he looks like he's been there for a while already, sitting in a ray of newly-risen sunlight and napping. He opens his eyes when Erik gets off the tram and smiles. "You're early!"

"So are you." Erik smiles, he can't help it, there's something about that broad grin that's infectious.

Charles just shrugs and gets up, and Erik wonders if this is part of Charles' reading-minds thing. He probably knew Erik was going to come early before Erik did.

"Do you want to get breakfast?" Charles dusts himself off, "I know a really good place around the corner, and it's cheap."

"Yes please." Erik rubs the back of his neck, suddenly feeling awkward. "I don't have much money," Unlike Charles, who brings enough lunch for half the class.

Charles shrugs, "I don't have much either. I've usually spent my allowance by now. It should be enough for something nice though."

'Something nice' ends up being two bagels each and a French roll they share between them, sweet and buttery and dunked in honey, in a small corner bakery Erik would have walked past without a second thought. Charles seems to be a regular because the owner just smiles a little sadly when he sees him and is already reaching to prepare the bagels. "Another late night Charles?"

Charles just nods. They sit on high stools looking out into the street and Erik is suddenly very conscious of Charles' knee pressing against his. In the middle of everything - these strange abilities they think they have, the sheer _trouble_ Erik's going to be in when he gets home - this is what he can't stop thinking about. The soft pressure, the warmth of contact, the way it shifts when Charles moves to get more comfortable on the stool.

Charles breaks the silence first, looking up from his roll. "Do you want to show me?" A little hesitant.

Erik doesn't have to read minds to know what he means. He looks around to find something he can use, and picks up a fork. He puts it down between them and looks at it. It's light, much lighter than the knives and forks at home. Its trill is so high-pitched he has to strain to hear it and it has a buzzing sensation, like his teeth are vibrating.

He lifts a hand and holds it over the fork, concentrating. When he moves his hand, the fork follows, scraping against the Bakelite table top. He squints a bit and the fork lifts off the table, balancing on its prongs.

Charles gives a soft noise and Erik looks at him; he's all wide-eyed wonder and the sight makes something wonderful bloom in Erik's chest. He concentrates again, waggles his fingers and the fork lifts two of the prongs off the table, balancing on just one, a flick of his wrist and it changes, two prongs with one in the air. He switches, faster and faster until the fork looks like it's doing to can-can and Charles laughs in sheer delight.

"What are you doing?" The baker's voice cuts in and the fork falls to the table with a clatter. Erik runs a hand quickly over it, straightening the prongs.

"Nothing sir!" Charles calls back, but he's still smiling like the sun and it's entirely worth whatever punishment Erik's parents have waiting for him just to see Charles smile like that. "That's amazing." He whispers to Erik, eyes shining.

"I haven't tried to do much else." Erik whispers back. "This is the most I've done."

"It's still amazing." Charles touches Erik's hand, as though he can feel how Erik does it with his fingers. The contact shoots a bolt of electricity through Erik, as though Charles is charged with static. Charles doesn't seem to notice, "We need to go to Coney Island and try the slot machines."

Erik's only heard of Coney Island, and hasn't so much as seen a slot machine, but it sounds like fun. Still- "Now you."

Charles' smile falls and Erik wishes he hadn't said anything, just to keep Charles _smiling_ like that-

"It's nothing like yours. I don't even know if mine's real or not." Charles rubs his knuckles on the table top, not meeting Erik's eyes. "I could just be hearing voices."

"You're not mad." Erik frowns, suddenly alarmed.

"I don't know. I could be." His eyes drop further, staring at the floor. "They all think I am." It's mumbled but Erik catches it.

"I don't think you are. You're not." Crazy people throw teapots at their family and refused to change their clothes for weeks like great-uncle Isaac. While Charles is still wearing the same clothes as yesterday he's yet to throw porcelain at anyone. "Show me?" He takes a bite of bagel.

Charles swallows, and nods. He leans forward and puts his fingers to the side of his head. "Think of something, and I'll try and guess what it is."

Erik blinks, mind suddenly going blank as he chews. He has no idea _what_ to think about. There's a moment of uncertain failing before the knowledge of how much trouble he must be in comes back like one of those Australian things they'd learnt about in geography- boomerangs. They must be all on their way to synagogue by now, and they must all be so mad at him. Well, mother and father would be, Else is probably annoyed he didn't invite her, the twins would be over the moon with how much trouble he's in, Moshe would have that self-righteous superior look that was adorable at five and is getting really annoying at six. They're all going to have to explain to the Rabbi why Erik isn't there and they're all going to be so _disappointed-_

"Oh." Charles covers mouth with his hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't think. I'd forgotten that Saturday was your holy day. I hope you're not in too much trouble."

Erik stares at him, wondering if he's accidentally said it all out loud. But he couldn't have because his mouth is still full of half-mashed bagel. He swallows with difficulty. "You saw that?" His voice comes out as more of a croak.

"I saw that you were worried your family was going to angry because you missed- what was it? Your church?"

"Synagogue." Erik helps.

"Thanks, it's not just words, it's pictures and things." He looks at Erik with those impossibly blue eyes. "I was right?"

Erik nods. He frowns and thinks very hard of opening the latch in his room two days ago. "Try now."

Charles concentrates, then smiles. "Is that how-"

Erik nods, smiling back eagerly.

"I could feel it- like you can. You can almost hear it, I didn't realise." Charles is looking at lot happier. "There must be metal everywhere, in the city. Can you show me-?"

Erik closes his eyes and listens, feeling the dog-whistle vibrations of the aluminium cutlery, the slightly lower whisper of the chrome in the seats, the sweet trill of the radio's copper wires, broadcasting smooth jazz, and below that, the bedrock-deep roar of the buildings around them, steel as strong as mountains, holding the world together.

He opens his eyes, and Charles has his closed. He opens them slowly. "That's wonderful." He murmurs. "You're really lucky. It can get a bit - crowded - in here." He taps the side of his head.

"You can come to listen at any time." Erik offers, "I don't usually pay attention, but it's always there."

Charles nods. "I won't poke around or anything, you don't have to worry."

"Thank you."

They sit in silence, finishing their roll and bagels. Erik breaks it first, "I didn't always hear it."

When Charles looks at him, he continues, "I only really noticed when I first came here. On the boat and in the skyscrapers. I thought it was normal."

"Did you tell anyone?" Charles's voice is soft.

Erik frowns. No, he's never thought to. "No." he admits.

Charles looks down at the last scrap of roll he's spreading with honey. "I did at first. I thought it was something everyone did, and no one ever bothered to tell you when you were small, like believing in Santa Claus."

_Who?_ Erik wonders, but brushes the thought aside.

"I told them, and they thought I was mad. They made me see a doctor and I had to pretend I was normal." He stops talking, stops moving, and for a moment looks so small Erik just wants to comes close to him and surround him and keep him safe. "I thought I was the only one."

"You're not." Erik's voice breaks halfway through, dropping to a low growl. "And if there's two of us and we meet just because we're at the same school, there must be others. It's just more likely."

"I don't think it's just luck." And Charles' hand is brushing his again, and it's like the world's suddenly decided to stop turning, and it's just them, for a long, endless moment, sitting in sunny diner in Manhattan, hands touching.

Then it breaks, and Charles stands up. "Come on, let's go to Coney Island. Maybe you can win us enough money to pay for picture tickets."

* * *

They spend half an hour in Coney Island, enough time for Erik to figure out how to tell the coins in the machines to jump out and they go from one machine to another to make sure no one works out what they're doing. They take their bag of quarters to the nearest cinema and go in to see a film about gangsters.

Erik's a bit lost in the plot but Charles explains it to him in whispers and by the halfway mark he's up to date and enjoying himself thoroughly. They stay in and watch another film, something boring and dreary about some old teacher. The cinema is almost empty and they talk happily about films until that one ends and they can go and watch the gangster one again.

It's late when they leave, and they're both starving. They go back to Coney Island and buy hot dogs from a stand to eat on the beach. They're both sitting on the jetty and Erik is quite sure that no matter how much trouble he'll be in this evening, it will be all worth it. He's never had a day like today.

"Erik?" Charles' voice is cautious. Erik smiles, he doesn't think he could stop smiling if he tried. "Do you think we could play the slot machines again? I don't have enough money to get a cab home."

Erik blinks. "Isn't a car coming to pick you up?"

"That's only on school nights. On holidays I have to pay a cab."

Charles paid to get down here knowing he didn't have enough money to get home? Erik no longer feels bad about skipping synagogue; if Charles wanted to meet here so badly, it was worth it. And of course he was desperate to meet, Erik was the only person he could talk to about reading minds who wouldn't try and lock him up. No wonder he risked it.

Erik smiles, "Of course Charles."

He takes enough money that the owner thinks they're cheating and chases them off, but Charles has enough dimes and quarters to get home, and come back on Monday. Hopefully the owner won't be there, and they can get enough to go on a rollercoaster.


	6. Chapter 6

                Summer hits with a vengeance and Erik spends a week of it wasted and sweltering in his room, and it's almost a relief when he's finally let out to work with his uncle for another two weeks.

                Two weeks, in a tiny workshop with his taciturn and short-tempered uncle Karl. Three weeks of his holiday completely gone. Erik would consider it not worth the one day of a freedom, except it was. And he would do it again.

                He thinks this is why his punishment was drawn out. His mother's very good at knowing when he's not really sorry. So it's three weeks.

                 It's nasty for the first few days, just sitting at the front of the store looking out through the grimy windows and bored out of his mind. Nothing to do but listen to his uncle gripe about how _this_ was where he worked now,  _Him,_ who'd had a workshop five times this size and eight - eight!- apprentices. Now look at him, a run-down shack and an ungrateful nephew. Land of the free - _Oh vey_ \- what would they say if they saw him now -they wouldn't recognise him, he'd aged ten years in this  wretched place-

                Erik resists the urge to beat his head against the countertop. Then he has a better idea and tries to drown out his uncle's voice by listening to the world instead. It's full of metal, as a goldsmith’s workshop would be. Gold is a deep hum, almost too low for him to hear. Silver high and piping, like a flute. Brass is surprisingly the nicest, a clear warbling trill that makes him smile.

                And there's something else, a low buzz as though the metal was trying to hit two notes at once. It's coming from the corner where the counter meets the wall. Erik leans over, and spots a small box wedged in the tiny gap. It's too tight to get his hand in, so Erik glances over his shoulder to check his uncle is too busy to notice, and reaches a hand over the gap, pulling it up with his mind.

                The box is so firmly stuck that it first it only rattles angrily, refusing to move. Whatever is inside strains harder at Erik's command, pressing against the cardboard. It shuffles up a few inches, then wedges in even harder. Erik groans under his breath, _come on, up_.

                The metal makes a final wrench, tearing through the cardboard and spinning up to hit Erik's hand hard. He swears and pulls his hand back, the metal pieces still stuck to his palm.

                There are about ten of them, little lumpy beads about the size of Erik's fingernails. Rather ugly, but they are a lovely colour, a sort of pale white-gold. They hum pleasantly when Erik touches them, and become a little orchestra of their own when he sends them spinning across the counter. Then for fun, he sends them up in the air and spins them over his palm.

                They look a bit like the solar system he'd been reading about at school. Erik starts arranging them accordingly - the biggest and yellowiest is the sun, a small brownish one is Mercury, a slightly larger golden one is Venus, a rather tarnished one is the Earth, a browner one is Mars- he remembers Charles saying he had to read a book by Edgar Rice Burroughs about a man who went to Mars and feels a stab of loss. He'd told Charles he didn't know when they'd be able to meet next. Charles had said he'd go to Coney Island every Thursday, and they'd meet there when Erik was free.

                Today is Thursday. Another two Thursdays before Erik can meet him. Two weeks. What if Charles stops coming? What if he finds someone else to spent time with and forgets about Erik? The urge to run out and not stop until he was there and could see for himself and -

                "What are you doing?" His uncle's voice stops him dead. The man is standing next to him, staring at the little orbs orbiting each other.

                Erik's mouth goes completely dry, "I-"

                Uncle Karl crouches down until the little solar system is level with his eyes. Erik looks at him, then, because he might as well show off, makes the little planets spin faster, adding little loops and twirls.

                "How are you doing that?" He's never heard Uncle Karl speak so softly, his usually raucous voice dropping to a whisper.

                "I don't know."

                They don't say anything, and Erik sends one of the planets- Jupiter - looping out of its orbit to hover in front of his uncle's nose. He lets him pick it up and turn it in his fingers. "This is the electrum I ordered last week. I couldn't find the box anywhere." He's almost talking to himself, not really looking at the lump of metal.

                "It fell down here." Erik points to the exploded box, still stuck between the counter and the wall.

                Uncle Karl looks down at the box, crouches down so he can see it better. "What happened to the box?"

                "Sorry." Erik starts, and immediately feels stupid. "I couldn't get it out."

                "You couldn't move the box?" Uncle Karl's eyes are sharp suddenly. "Just the electrum?"

                "Yes." Erik searches to describe it, unlike Charles, Uncle Karl can't read minds. "I can't feel it - just the metal."

                "Just metal."

                "Yes."

                " _All_ kinds of metal?"

                Erik frowns, "I think so."

                His uncle nods slowly, eyes refocusing somewhere far away, one finger resting towards his lips. He smiles, slowly but so steadily that Erik wonders if the widening grin will stop before it reaches his ears. He looks at Erik with the kindest look Erik has ever seen him give to anyone, and pulls up a spare chair to sit on. "Grandmother always though father was joking."

                Erik blinks. "Grandfather-"

                "He always said the family had a talent for metal. He said it was all about the breeding. He was an artilleryman during the war. He kept all the guns firing until the very last shot. Not one ever failed under his charge. Even those newfangled _panzers_ , he worked on them too, and they never broke down with him around. Grandfather - your great grandfather - he worked in the foundries of last century. You look back long enough and all you'll find are Lehnsherr blacksmiths, Lehnsherr metalworkers, all the way back to the time of the prophets."

                Erik has no idea what to say to this.

                "And look at you! That was what it was all leading to. Great grandfather made metal with his bare hands, grandfather bent it to his will, I make works of art, and you- look at you Erik! You don't even have to touch it anymore! That's breeding for you! Evolution!" His eyes are shining and he's shouting so loudly Erik wonders if they can hear them on the street. "And imagine it Erik! Imagine what _your_ children will be able to do! With the right training, you'll be the greatest craftsman in your lifetime!"

                "I don't-" Uncle Karl delighted is even worse than Uncle Karl angry, Erik swallows. "I don't know how to do anything, just -this."

                "Just this?" Uncle Karl doesn't sound disappointed. He just plain doesn't believe him.

                Erik hesitates. He doesn't want to set Uncle Karl off again, but - "I can hear it as well," he admits. "Metals. They all sound different. But nothing else, I don't know how to do anything." He thinks of Uncle Karl's work, even here, without his tools and apprentices. All the filigree and sculpture. He can't do this. He wouldn't know where to start.

                "Erik." Again, there's that kindly look in his eyes, one hand goes to Erik's shoulder, a comforting clasp. "You don't have to. Just with that. You can hear metals. You can move them without your hands. No one else can do that. Probably no one else in the world."

                "Father can't." There's a gap in his uncle's evolutionary progress.

                "Oh, it probably skipped a generation. That happens sometimes. But it was there, waiting, and maybe if Elias wasn't so busy playing in the fields it might have come out in him too."

                It makes... a surprising amount of sense. But -

                "I'm not the only one though." Erik points out. "My friend at school, Charles, he can read minds."

                The kindly look vanishes from his uncle's face, replaced by an exasperated frown. "Don't be ridiculous Erik, that's impossible."

 

* * *

 

                 The next two weeks are rather more pleasant. Uncle Karl has his daughter look after the counter, and keeps Erik in the back, showing him how to work gold, copper, silver and his personal favourite brass. He has Erik show off his skill to his parents, and it's all very nice and they're all very proud of him before Uncle Karl suggests pulling Erik out of school to apprentice with him and the temperature in the room drops several degrees and Erik flees before the shouting starts.

                He still has to finish out the two weeks though, and when he's done his uncle offers him a bit of extra allowance in return for working with him after school. Erik agrees. It's his mother's birthday in a few weeks, and maybe he could make something for her.

                Finally - finally! - it's Thursday. Erik's been up since seven, and can't throw his clothes and shoes on fast enough. He's in such a hurry to go out that he almost misses the tension in the kitchen when he comes in. The twins haven't noticed, whispering to each other over bowls of porridge, and Moshe is eating his steadily.

                But he and Elsa are too hardened by familial war not to notice something's wrong. Both Mother and Father are quiet, eating in near-silence and glancing at each other in a way that suggests they are having a conversation that doesn't need speech or even telepathy. Erik raises his eyebrows at Elsa, and she shrugs.

                It is only when Erik steps out into the blazing sunlight that he realises the usual newspaper on the table was missing.

                Erik's fears were in vain. Charles is waiting for him by the arcades, sitting and reading a book. He looks up before Erik has a chance to speak and his face lights up brighter than the sun. Erik grins back, helplessly, and drops down to sit next to him, hugging his knees because he's so _happy_ to be out at last 

                "Was it horrible?" Charles asks.

                Erik shrugs, "It wasn't too bad, I had to work with my uncle for two weeks." At Charles' interested look, he carries on, "He's a goldsmith. It was a bit boring at first, but then I showed him what I could do-"

                Charles blinks, "Did they-"

                Erik remembers what Charles told him three weeks ago, about his family, and the doctors, and pretending to be normal so they didn't lock him up. "No! No, it was fine. My uncle's more excited about it than I am. He's offered to let me work with him after school." He feels his face heat up, his family is so _embarrassing_.  "They think it's something in our family, like evolution?"

Charles frowns, "Evolution?"

"They were going on about how all our family worked with metal for as long as we can go back, and that it had come out in me, somehow."

Charles smiles, and covers his mouth. "I don't think it works like that. Evolution takes a lot longer."

"Oh," It was a good theory, but then, how would it explain Charles? His family would all have had to be mentalists or something.

"I did wonder if it might be something like that though." Charles continues, "That we're a new kind of human, with special powers."

Erik imagines it, him and Charles, alone, the only ones of their kind. It's horribly lonely.

"Not like that!" Charles smiles, and puts a hand on Erik's shoulder. "There are people born all the time that are different, with different colour eyes or skin; we're like that, only- more."

It's a bit better, but Erik still prefers his uncle's theory. Charles gets up, and holds out a hand to help Erik up. "I was thinking we could get a few dimes here, and take a bus a bit out of the city. There are some really nice parts not too far out."

Erik can't remember the last time he saw a proper tree- not one of these smog-soaked things on the streets - he grins.

 

* * *

 

 They spend the day wandering around talking, and Erik manages to fix a makeshift fishing rod out of a stick and some metal wire he pulls from one of Charles' spare buttons. Unfortunately they don't have any bait, and American fish don't appear to like unripe blackberries.

The part well past dark, and Erik's mother forgets to scold him after he gives her the wildflowers they'd picked up on their rambling.

They fish again, a few days later, with a proper rod and bait Erik tracked down. They spend stolen coins in pictureshows and rollercoasters. Charles drags Erik to the World's Fair which sounded incredibly boring when he described it.

They end up going back there six times before the summer is over.

Father's job offers extra hours, and he comes home happy and sun-browned, clothes encrusted with dirt. Elsa has a new beau again, a rich American businessman who turns out to be a bus driver from Brooklyn. Erik spins his mother a necklace made of brass plated gold and one electrum bead his uncle allowed him to keep. He wishes his mother could hear the song it sings.

She's too shocked to speak, looking from Erik to Karl, who swells with pride to the point Erik wonders if his shirt buttons are going to pop off. Then Erik is hauled into a warm, wonderful hug it doesn't even _occur_ to him to try and pull out of.

It's a good summer.

 

 


End file.
